


Some Things Are That Simple

by sonata_de_morte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonata_de_morte/pseuds/sonata_de_morte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s having a bit of a crisis, but alcohol has always been there for him. Apparently Draco Malfoy’s there, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things Are That Simple

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012/2013 HP Intoxicated fest.

"Of all the places to run into you, Potter, I have to say that this is the last place I expected."  
  
The cool, refined, and incredibly familiar voice cut through the drunken haze that Harry had been slowly sinking deeper and deeper into. "Malfoy," he mumbled. Because it would have to be Malfoy, wouldn't it? "I'm allowed to come here. Shove off."  
  
But of course Malfoy didn't shove off. That would have been too easy, and Harry’s life was anything but easy at the moment. Instead Malfoy sat down on the stool next to Harry's and motioned to the bartender.  
  
Harry turned his head and gave the blond man a once over. It had been a while since he had seen Malfoy more than just in passing. He knew that the former Slytherin worked for the Ministry, doing something that Harry hadn’t even bothered to find out the particulars of. Sometimes they crossed paths coming and going from the lifts, or at the lines for the Floos, but that was about it.  
  
Seven years had been good to Malfoy, Harry had to admit. He’d lost some of that pointiness that had made him look so unpleasant back at school, and he seemed to have gotten even taller. And didn’t that just figure? His hair was longer and no longer slicked back to his head; instead it fell over the collar of the soft blue button up he was wearing and hung loosely around his face. The whole thing had a softening effect, and Harry was a bit stunned.  
  
"No one is disputing your right to be here," Malfoy was saying, and it seemed that seven years had done nothing to tone down the superiority that dripped from every word that he said. "I'm merely pointing out that it's odd we would be here at the same time."  
  
"Can you point it out from somewhere else?" Harry asked. "Only I'm trying to accomplish something here, and you're very distracting."  
  
"He is, isn't he?" asked the bartender when he came to place a scarlet drink in front of Malfoy. "And that's one of his better qualities."  
  
Harry looked between the bartender and Malfoy and was shocked to see a flirtatious grin on the face of the latter.  
  
"Charming as ever, Phillip," Malfoy said, and Harry had to shiver at the low tone his voice had taken on. He had to be drunker than he thought. "But since what Potter seems to be trying to accomplish is emptying your whiskey stores, I think you will both survive the distraction." He took a sip of whatever he was drinking and gave Phillip a look that was clearly a dismissal.  
  
Phillip pouted, but he went away, and Malfoy rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath.  
  
"You know him," Harry said before he could remember that he had wanted Malfoy to shove off.  
  
"Well spotted," Malfoy replied, toasting Harry with his drink. "That's Phillip Parkinson. You’ll remember his cousin Pansy. Face like a pug? Tried to sell you out to Voldemort?"  
  
Harry did remember her, and he'd have thought that she and Malfoy would have been married or something by now with the way she had hung all over him at school. But he supposed that he knew first hand that sometimes things didn't work out like that.   
  
“You weren’t very nice to him,” Harry mumbled, grabbing his glass and tipping it back, spilling whiskey in a wave down his throat. It was good whiskey because even though he was in a misery, there was no reason to suffer through the mouth numbing burn that went with the bad stuff.  
  
Malfoy waved that away. “I’ve been fan meaner to Phillip, and he always bounces back. He’s rather like a puppy that way. Or someone with an incredibly short memory. Either way, he’ll survive.” He raised his glass to his lips and took a long swallow of the drink, and it was an effort for Harry not to watch the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in the pale line of his throat, or the way he licked his lips afterward.  
  
Nothing could be gained from watching that.  
  
In fact, Harry was not watching it so hard that he missed whatever words Malfoy had directed at him next. So he ended up blinking dumbly at him and probably looking far thicker than he actually was. But what else was new?  
  
“What?” Harry asked, raking a hand through his hair.  
  
“I asked what it is that’s put you in this fit of melancholy,” Malfoy repeated, sounding more amused than anything. For a moment he dug in his pockets and then produced a cigarette. Harry gave in and watched him place it between his lips and light it with the tip of his wand. Smoke curled up towards the ceiling in lazy swirls, and Harry’s eyes were drawn by the relaxed look that fell over the pointed features.   
  
“I’m not melancholy,” Harry mumbled. “And you can’t smoke in here.”   
  
“I most certainly can,” Malfoy said, blowing another cloud of smoke upwards. “Phillip doesn’t care. Do you, Phillip?”   
  
Phillip, the traitor, shook his head. “Nope. Smoke all you like.”   
  
Malfoy shot Harry a triumphant smirk. “And you are melancholy, or at the very least discontent. I can feel the ennui rolling off of you in waves.”  
  
Harry had only the loosest idea of what Malfoy was going on about, so instead of answering him, he took another drink, letting the pleasant burn dull him even more. He probably should have been drunker than he was, considering he was working on his fifth – sixth? – drink, but he could still feel things and understand what was going on around him. Well, not whatever Malfoy was saying, but that probably wasn’t that important really. It was just Malfoy.  
  
“So, what is it?” Malfoy asked again. “Are people finally wising up and letting you fade into obscurity? Do they no longer shower you with accolades and free things for your noble service to all that is magical?”  
  
“Shut up,” Harry grumbled, motioning for another drink.  
  
Phillip seemed pleased to oblige, especially since the bar was mostly empty at this point.   
  
“No, really,” Malfoy said, and at least he was blowing his smoke away from Harry’s face. “What has got our lauded Saviour so despondent?”   
  
“Do you ever speak English?” Harry asked, sipping at his drink as his head spun a bit. Maybe it was time to slow down before he ended up doing something he might regret. Like vomiting all over the place. And really, he didn’t want to talk about it. Nothing had happened, specifically, but a man reached a point in his life where he realized things were not going the way he’d wanted them to. At all.  
  
Malfoy blinked at him. “What language do you think I’m speaking, Potter?” he asked bemusedly. “How drunk are you?”   
  
“Not drunk.”  
  
Phillip laughed. “Pretty drunk. He’s been here for a while.”   
  
Harry scowled at the bartender, who had been perfectly willing to give him drinks and let him indulge his sour mood without the commentary before Malfoy had arrived.  
  
“Let’s talk about something else, Malfoy. Like you and Phil here.”   
  
“Phillip,” both men corrected at once.   
  
“I would never sleep with anyone named Phil,” Malfoy added, shuddering. He ashed his cigarette and snapped his fingers. “My drink is getting low, Phillip,” he said.  
  
“Yes, your Highness,” Phillip muttered, pouring more of the bright red liquid into Malfoy’s glass. “So…Draco, what are you –“  
  
Whatever he wanted to ask was cut off by Malfoy turning back to Harry. There was something mischievous about his face, and Harry watched as the other man lifted his glass and knocked back the whole thing in one go. He smirked when he was finished and licked his lips again, and Harry knew that he should have been looking away from the display, only he didn’t seem to be able to.  
  
Instead he cleared his throat and drank more of his own drink. “Your drink is very Gryffindor-esque, Malfoy,” he said.  
  
The affronted look that Malfoy gave him was actually pretty amusing. “Gryffindors do not have a monopoly on the color red, Potter,” he drawled. “Honestly, you’d think you heroic idiots ruled the world or some such thing with the way people carry on.”   
  
“I’m just saying that I didn’t think you would go for something that could even be asso… ass…” Fuck. There was the alcohol kicking in and making it hard for him to say words with more than two syllables.   
  
And of course Malfoy was still watching him like he was the worst kind of idiot, and Harry suddenly wanted to bang his head against the polished wood of the bar.   
  
“It’s been years since school, Potter,” Malfoy replied, apparently not needing Harry to finish his sentence to understand what he’d been trying to say. “I have moved past House rivalries. Why, just the other week I had lunch with a charming Hufflepuff.”   
  
“And in this case ‘had lunch’ means…” the bartender muttered, plenty loud enough for them to hear.  
  
Malfoy gave Phillip an irritated look. “It means we ate lunch, Phillip,” he said. A sly smile slid over his face mere seconds later. “Although, I will divulge that the salmon was not the only thing that got eaten. If you know what I mean.”   
  
Harry knew what he meant, even if that last bit had clearly been for Phillip’s benefit. His heart was pounding and his breath caught, and he was fairly certain that his face was the color of whatever Malfoy was drinking. He didn’t want to think about it, but his alcohol sodden brain was conjuring the images, putting Malfoy with some faceless man wearing yellow and black as they negotiated position. Clothes were shed, mouths locked together until one lowered to…  
  
“Are you quite alright, Potter?” The sharp voice cut through his reverie, and Harry could only be glad for it. And there was that look again. The one that Harry was sure meant Malfoy was wondering how he managed to live day to day with his own stupidity.   
  
“Yeah. Sure,” Harry mumbled. “Just fine.”   
  
Malfoy laughed. “You aren’t a prude, are you, Potter? Because that would just be too sad.”  
  
Harry scowled at him. “I am not a prude. And what do you mean, it would be sad?”   
  
“You’re Harry Potter,” Malfoy said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone thought you were going to marry the littlest Weasley, but then when you didn’t you must have been getting women throwing themselves at you from all corners. And wouldn’t that make all the running and fighting you did as a child worth it?”  
  
Phillip snorted a laugh and gave Malfoy a significant look, which Malfoy waved away. “Not worth it for me, of course. I wouldn’t go near a woman in that way for all the money in Potter’s vault. All I’m saying is that there are things he could be taking advantage of.”   
  
“I do take advantage of it!” Harry replied indignantly. “That’s the problem.”   
  
The other two men were quiet for some time, and it was Malfoy, of course it was Malfoy, who broke the silence. “The problem is you have too many women? Honestly, Potter. And here I was thinking you had a problem worth drinking about.” He shook his head.  
  
Harry glared. “That’s not…I didn’t…” He gave in and dropped his head to the cool wood of the bar, sighing and closing his eyes. He was too drunk for this.   
  
“There, there, Potter,” Malfoy said, patting his back. “We’ll just make you a time table or something. A schedule so you can fit all of the women in. Or so you can fit it into all of the women.” The little giggle he gave at the end proved that the alcohol was not only affecting Harry.  
  
“Don’t you ever shut up?” Harry mumbled, lifting his head to peer at the other man.  
  
“You have to put something in his mouth,” Phillip advised.  
  
It was a very good thing that Harry hadn’t been drinking something right then or he might have choked to death. “Excuse me?” he asked, swaying a bit on his stool as he sat upright.  
  
“To get Draco to shut up. You have to put something in his mouth. Pureblood breeding forbids him to talk with his mouth full.” The wink that Phillip gave him made Harry shudder, a little repulsed, but somehow the thought of Malfoy with his mouth full did not elicit the same reaction.  
  
“Yes, thank you, Phillip,” Malfoy snapped, before Harry’s brain could conjure more images. “Make yourself useful and get me another of these, will you?” The irritation left his eyes when he turned back to Harry. “So, what do you say, Potter? Need someone to help you manage your sex life?”   
  
“Why am I talking to you?” Harry groaned, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and he thought perhaps he had better quit while he was ahead.  
  
“Because I’m interesting. And because –“  
  
“Is it true?” Harry interrupted.  
  
“Is what true?”   
  
“What Phillip said. About the way to get you to shut up?”   
  
Malfoy blinked in surprise for a moment before sending a glare at the bartender. “What does that have to do with anything?”   
  
It was a valid question, really, but Harry was past the point where rational thought was working in his favor. And he decided to embrace that. Thinking had never done him a bit of good, and he was convinced that it wouldn’t help in this situation at all.   
  
“Because I’d really like for you to shut up, and I think I’d really like to put something in your mouth.”   
  
The look on Malfoy’s face then was priceless. He seemed to be torn between being offended and intrigued, and Harry took advantage of that to make his way to his feet. The room spun for a moment as the alcohol made itself known in a wave, but he adjusted soon enough. The need to use the men’s made itself known as well, and Harry set off in that direction, leaving a gobsmacked Malfoy behind him. It was rare that Harry took pleasure in the little things these days, but getting Malfoy to shut up without even having to embarrass himself too much definitely improved his mood.  
  
He hummed to himself as he took care of his business before cleaning himself and his hands. Harry had turned back towards the door when it banged open and admitted Malfoy.   
  
“You aren’t funny, you know,” he said, and there were high spots of color on his cheeks. Harry couldn’t tell if he was drunk or irritated or both.  
  
“Not true,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “Ask my godson. He thinks I’m a riot.”   
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware.”   
  
That caught Harry off guard, and he frowned. “How do you know that?”   
  
“Because, you simpleton, Theodore Lupin is Andromeda’s grandson.”  
  
Harry blinked at him, not really sure how telling him something he already knew was meant to be answering his question.  
  
Clearly exasperated, Malfoy gave him a withering look. “And Andromeda is my mother’s sister. Making Teddy…”   
  
“Your cousin,” Harry finished. He had known that. Apparently the alcohol was succeeding in making him thicker than he usually was. Brilliant. “Right. So it makes sense that you would see him. Right.”   
  
“Honestly, Potter,” Malfoy said. “Sometimes I wonder how you even managed to kill Voldemort when it’s clearly a struggle for you to breathe and think at the same time.”   
  
“You’re an arse, do you know that?” Harry asked with a scowl.   
  
“I’ve been told. But then, you aren’t much better.”   
  
“How do you figure?” Harry demanded. Really. Getting called an arse by Malfoy of all people was almost too much.  
  
“Your little stunt back there. ‘I think I’d really like to put something in your mouth’,” Malfoy parroted. “What the bloody hell do you call that?”   
  
Harry scratched his head. “A joke?” he offered.  
  
Malfoy scowled. “No,” he said. “No.”   
  
Before Harry could do much of anything, Malfoy was advancing on him, making him take instinctive steps backward until he was pressed against the cool tile of the wall. Those grey eyes that had seemed so impassive and mocking when they were in school were now alight with something that made them snap and darken, and Harry wasn’t even entirely sure what was going on here at all.  
  
“You are a twat, Harry Potter,” Malfoy muttered, and suddenly their lips were touching. Harry’s eyes shot open wide and he froze where he was.   
  
He had never been kissed by another bloke before. Not that he hadn’t thought about what it might be like. Because he had. He’d lain awake in bed next to a warm and sweet smelling Ginny, and then after her next to any number of warm sweet smelling women, and he’d thought about what it might be like to have another man pressed against him. There would be no confusing softness to deal with; just hard lines and muscled planes, and Harry had thought that he could like that very much. But he’d never told anyone. He was abnormal enough without adding confused about his sexuality to the list.  
  
Malfoy was kissing him, though, his lips pressed firmly to Harry’s, sending puzzling and admittedly pleasurable feelings through him. Time seemed to have slowed down, or perhaps stopped all together, because Harry couldn’t tell how long he stood there before he realized that he wasn’t kissing Malfoy back.   
  
Malfoy realized it, too because he stepped back, grey eyes flashing. “You are a twat,” he said again and made to leave.  
  
Quite without his permission, Harry’s hand shot out and had wrapped around Malfoy’s wrist preventing him from leaving. “No,” he whispered. “No.”   
  
“No what?” Malfoy snapped, rounding on him. “It’s obvious that you’re not interested, and that you were just making some off hand, arsehole comment when you said that thing, and I, as usual read too much into it because I—“  
  
Harry was tired of talking. He moved quickly, alcohol and adrenaline coursing through him as he turned Malfoy around and pressed him against the wall hard enough that those eyes widened. Before Malfoy could open his mouth again, Harry was kissing him.  
  
He was a bit worried when Malfoy didn’t respond, but then Malfoy was making a desperate noise against his lips and kissing back with more force than Harry thought he had ever experienced in a kiss.  
  
Ginny had never kissed him like this, though she had been the closest. Malfoy kissed like it was a competition. Like they were back on the Quidditch pitch, racing against the wind and each other to see which one of them was going to get to the snitch first. It was glorious, and Harry wanted more.   
  
He pressed his body as close to Malfoy’s as he could, soaking up the warmth and feeling the thudding beat of the other man’s heartbeat against him. His fingers were moving of almost their own accord, sliding up his arms to his shoulders to his neck to the soft blond hair. Harry fisted his hands in it, delighting in the breathy whimper that he got as a result.   
  
He licked along the seam of Malfoy’s lips for a moment, before forcing his tongue between them, plunging it into the heat of that mouth.  
  
All things considered, Harry was very familiar with Malfoy’s mouth. He had punched him in it and listened to any number of nasty things come out of it. But like this, Harry had to admit that his mouth was rather brilliant. It was hot and wet, and Harry took his time exploring every inch of it with his tongue before engaging Malfoy’s.  
  
That seemed to bring the other man to life even more, and it took only seconds for them to be twining their tongues together, the bathroom ringing with the sounds of their harsh breaths and little moans.  
  
Harry was already getting hard, and he could feel an answering hardness when he pressed against Malfoy. With a smirk, he wedged his thigh between Malfoy’s, pressing against that tempting bulge and chuckling at the moan the Malfoy gave into his mouth.  
  
Malfoy pulled back, and Harry was pleased to see that his usually sharp grey eyes looked dazed and glazed over with something he hoped was lust. “What are you doing, Potter?” he tried to demand, but his voice was shaky.  
  
Harry’s fingers were still tangled in all of that fine hair, so he gave an experimental tug, sucking in a breath at the noise Malfoy made. He definitely liked that. “I’m not a twat,” Harry replied finally.   
  
The other man looked like he was going to argue, so Harry just yanked his head to the side and eyed that expanse of pale neck. He thought it would look very fetching with a few bite marks, and he set about adding some.  
  
The noises Malfoy was making weren’t doing anything to make him less aroused, and it seemed that the harder he bit down on his neck, the louder and more wanton Malfoy got.   
  
He never would have guess that Malfoy had a thing for pain, but the idea stirred his blood more than it was already, and he decided to test a few theories.   
  
The alcohol was spurring him on and making him even surer that this was a good idea, and he grabbed more of Malfoy’s hair in a firm grip, making the other man look at him. “You’re going to do what I say, yeah?”   
  
Malfoy snorted. “Hardly.”   
  
That was not the answer Harry wanted. “You are,” he whispered before letting go of his hair in his hand. “Turn around.”   
  
“No. You can’t just-“   
  
Whatever Malfoy had been about to say was cut off by Harry grabbing him and forcing him to face the wall. Malfoy’s hands came up to brace himself, and he turned his head to glare angrily at Harry, even though his eyes were still dark with want.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked again.  
  
Harry swatted his arse. “Shh,” he said.  
  
Malfoy didn’t fall silent, but the groan was welcome enough, so Harry pressed himself full length against Malfoy’s back, grinding his clothed erection against Malfoy’s arse. Having so many layers of clothing between them was frustrating, but Harry had no idea how to go about fucking a man, no matter how much he really wanted to take Malfoy right then and there.   
  
It seemed that Malfoy wanted that, too, if the way he was pressing back against Harry’s groin and rubbing like a cat in heat was any indication.   
  
Fuck it, Harry thought. He had to learn sometime, especially if this new startling clarity lasted past this drunken escapade. He moved his hands around Malfoy’s waist, cupping his erection through the fabric of his trousers before fumbling for the button and zip. His eagerness and drunkenness were overriding any nerves he might have felt, and he pushed his hand into Malfoy’s trousers, expecting to feel his pants, but his fingers came into contact with warm, firm skin, and it nearly short circuited Harry’s brain right then and there.  
  
“You…you’re not wearing pants,” he murmured, lips finding the back of Malfoy’s neck. For some reason they were drawn to that delicate column, wanting to leave marks of ownership behind.  
  
“W-well spotted,” Malfoy said, nearly breathless. “Now are you going to do something about it or just stand there like a useless lump?”   
  
That got Harry back on track. He gripped the smooth, hot flesh of Malfoy’s cock in his hand, giving it an experimental stroke in the way that he usually touched himself, fingers trailing over the head and squeezing just a bit.  
  
“Fuck, Potter,” Malfoy moaned, his head flopping forward to rest against the wall even as he pushed his hips up, thrusting into Harry’s hand.  
  
“That’s the idea, Malfoy,” Harry replied. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand and pulled down Malfoy’s trousers, letting them bunch around Malfoy’s knees.   
  
Harry had never considered himself an arse man, but he thought that might have been because he had never seen Malfoy’s arse before. It was perfectly shaped: firm and supple looking, and Harry bet that he would be tight and amazingly hot inside. And he wanted it.  
  
“Stay,” he whispered, pressing his hand to Malfoy’s back before he backed up and got on his knees, examining that delectable arse close up. It might have just been because he was drunk, but he wanted to know this arse. He wanted to bury himself in it and feel it tighten around him as he made Malfoy come again and again. He wanted it so badly that he could taste it, and then he wanted to _taste_ it.   
  
Harry used his hands to spread Malfoy’s cheeks, revealing the pink perfection of his puckered hole. It was small and rather pretty, and Harry was leaning forward to press a kiss to it before he could stop himself or think that decision through.  
  
The intake of breath from Malfoy worked to egg him on, and Harry slipped his tongue out, letting it circle the rim and tease for a bit before pressing firmly into that heat.  
  
“Potter…I…gods,” Malfoy was saying over and over again, and Harry could hear his hands scrabbling against the wall as he searched for something to hold onto. He loved that he was having this effect on the other man, especially after how that kiss had affected him.   
  
He worked his tongue in deeper, wanting to undo Malfoy and also open him up for his cock, which was much bigger than his tongue if he said so himself. It was possible that he was incredibly drunk at this point, but it was hard to tell if he was drunk from the alcohol, or from what he was doing.  
  
He was in the loo of a bar owned by someone who had likely done this same thing to Malfoy before. More astonishing than that, he was here with _Malfoy_. Malfoy who he had hated and felt sorry for and helped and who was currently responsible for the nearly painful erection that he had.  
  
It had to be now. Harry couldn’t wait anymore. He pulled his tongue free and slid the flat of it over Malfoy’s hole once more before getting to his feet. He undid his own trousers, listening to the sound of their breathing as it echoed in the bathroom.  
  
Malfoy had his forehead pressed to the wall and his eyes were tightly closed. Harry stared at him for a moment, his eyes going from Malfoy’s pink cheeks down to his cock that was curving up towards his stomach, a drop of precome sliding down the length of it.  
  
How Harry had never realized how absolutely fucking sexy this man was, he would never know, but now that he had discovered it, he didn’t plan to forget again. He freed his cock from the confines of his jeans and pants and murmured a spell. He’d mastered a wandless lubrication spell ages ago, and it was going to come in handy now.  
  
With bated breath, he used his hand to guide his cock to the crease of Malfoy’s arse, rubbing the head of it against that hole and swallowing hard at both the whimper Malfoy gave and the way it felt.  
  
“Ready?” he asked, feeling like it was polite to do so.  
  
“Potter, I swear to Merlin I will end you if you don’t get on with it,” Malfoy managed to snap, though Harry was gratified to hear how breathless he sounded.   
  
Oh, but that was how Harry wanted this. He was so drunk, and he didn’t think he could be gentle if he wanted to. He took a deep breath and then started pushing into Malfoy, his mouth falling open at how hot and tight the vise of his arse was around his cock. “Merlin’s balls, Malfoy,” he moaned, shoving in the rest of the way.   
  
It was so strange to think that he was inside of _Malfoy_ , but it was also kind of brilliant. Malfoy was taking deep breaths and shivering, and Harry forced himself to be still so he wouldn’t hurt him. _“Move,”_ Malfoy demanded, trying to push back against him.  
  
And that was all Harry needed. He grabbed Malfoy’s slender hips and used them for leverage as he pulled out and then shoved back into that tight hole, setting a fast, hard rhythm.   
  
It was obviously what the other man wanted, because he clenched his hands into fists where they rested against the wall and made no attempt to hold back the sounds of pleasure that spilled from his lips.   
  
Harry had never done this before. Not with a man, anyway, but Malfoy was tighter and more appealing than any woman he had ever fucked. He knew this wasn’t going to last long, and the part of him that was still a competitive child sometimes wanted to make sure that this was something Malfoy would remember.   
  
He pulled mostly out and then slammed in, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing in the bathroom along with the grunts Harry was making and the high, breathless noises that were coming from Malfoy.   
  
His orgasm was already coiling in his stomach, but he held out, wanting to get Malfoy off first. Using his grip on Malfoy’s hips, he changed the angle of his thrusts, trying to find that spot he had heard about that would make Malfoy scream.   
  
“Fuck!” Malfoy cried, clenching around him, and Harry knew he had found it. “Don’t you dare stop, Potter,” he whispered harshly. “Don’t even think about it.”   
  
“I won’t,” Harry replied, moving one hand to the smooth curve of Malfoy’s erection and stroking it in time with his thrusts inside of him. “Come on, Malfoy,” he breathed right in the other man’s ear. “Come for me, yeah?”   
  
He half expected Malfoy to scoff at him, but Malfoy fell apart instead, crying out loudly and shuddering as his release covered Harry’s hand. Harry kept stroking, though, even though he knew it was probably uncomfortable. He wanted to wring every last bit of pleasure from Malfoy that he could.   
  
He groaned when his own orgasm finally caught up to him, the lube slick slide of his cock inside of that perfect arse finally getting to be too much. Harry came with a low groan, pushing deep into Malfoy and letting go.  
  
For long moments after they had both come, neither man moved, Harry pressed his face to the back of Malfoy’s neck and breathed in the scent of sweat and sex. He could feel Malfoy’s heart pounding and his chest heaving, though he gradually calmed down.  
  
Harry’s head was suddenly clearer than he had expected it to be, and he moved away from the other man, pulling out and watching Malfoy for signs that he was in pain or upset.  
  
The bathroom seemed too quiet now without their breathing and the sounds of pleasure echoing through it, and he busied himself with fixing his clothes and keeping his eyes trained on the floor. He probably should have said something, but he couldn’t think of what to say.  
  
When he looked back up, Malfoy was back to his normal, put together self, and he was lighting a cigarette. The only sign that he was ruffled was the flush to his pale cheeks and the fact that his eyes were too wide.  
  
“So…” Harry said, clearing his throat and edging toward the door. “Must be getting late. I should…go.”   
  
Malfoy just stared at him, and then blew a cloud of smoke out. “You don’t need my permission,” he said, voice flat.  
  
Harry winced at that, some of his bravado from earlier leaving him now that he had to face this. “I…you’re the first bloke I’ve ever…”   
  
Something flared in Malfoy’s eyes, then, and Harry couldn’t tell if it was triumph or remorse. “So happy to help you experiment,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “Run along now, Potter. I’m sure there’s a woman somewhere who would be glad to help you get the feeling of man off of your cock.”   
  
“I…you…that’s not…” Harry couldn’t make coherent sentences come out of his mouth. “I _like_ blokes, you idiot,” he said finally. “I just never had a chance to do this kind of thing.”   
  
Malfoy’s lips twitched, but he didn’t open his eyes, just taking another drag off the cigarette before blowing rings towards the ceiling. “You’re Harry Potter,” he said. “You can do whatever you want.”   
  
Harry sighed and shook his head. “Not really. Plus, I didn’t know where to find someone to…you know.”   
  
“Right. Well, Phillip hardly ever says no, and I’m sure he’d be more than fine with getting shagged by the Chosen One if you wanted.”   
  
That was not what Harry wanted. “Malfoy…Draco.”   
  
At the use of his first name, Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, and he fixed his stare on Harry. “What?”   
  
“I…would you…what are you doing tomorrow night?” He was Harry Potter, dammit, not some coward. He could do this.  
  
“Nothing…” Draco said, frowning.  
  
“Then have dinner with me.”   
  
Draco snorted, stubbing out his cigarette and Vanishing the butt. “Potter, you’ve already got into my trousers; you don’t have to buy me dinner.”   
  
“I want to,” Harry said. “I’m not a one off kind of guy. Well, I have been in the past, but I’m not anymore. Starting now.”   
  
“And what makes you think I want anything more from you than what we just did?” Draco asked, arching an elegant brow.  
  
“I don’t know,” Harry said, shrugging. “Maybe you don’t. You could think about it and then owl me?”   
  
Draco huffed and pushed off from the wall, walking right up to him. Harry yelped when Draco fisted a hand in his shirt and yanked him forward into a smoky kiss. “Dinner,” Draco whispered against his lips. “You’re paying. And then I’ll show you how good it can be with a bloke.”   
  
Harry blinked and then a slow grin spread over his face. “Deal.”


End file.
